


Worth It

by thalialunacy



Category: Leverage, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Christmas Presents, Community: space_wrapped, Holidays, M/M, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-12
Updated: 2015-12-12
Packaged: 2018-05-01 09:52:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5201483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thalialunacy/pseuds/thalialunacy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where they have to get presents, Jim almost dies (again), Spock might be meddling, and McCoy grumbles a lot. And then there's sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worth It

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [space_wrapped](http://space-wrapped.livejournal.com/), my first Kirk/McCoy fest in yeeeeaaarrrrs. And it was delightful. :D I love these lads, and now I remember why.
> 
> Thanks to Canon_Is_Relative, vix_stix, and abigail89 for their unflinching support and enthusiasm.
> 
> Note: The _Leverage_ involvement is minimal; I just imported a character for a cameo, so no previous knowledge is necessary. And the Trek is a smoosh of AOS and TOS, because I can't resist old!Kirk's love of antiques.

_Attention, crew of the Enterprise. Seeing as it's December 1st, and we are all very festive people, we are going to be having a Secret Santa gift exchange, with the actual exchanging happening at our annual holiday potluck in a few weeks._

McCoy grimaces down at his PADD. Damn Jim and his damn potlucks. ('I don't care that it's all out of the replicator, Bones,' he'd argued. 'Food is the best part of special occasions, and it fosters learning and cultural exchange and all that jazz.' McCoy had just shaken his head. You can take the boy out of the midwest...)

 _If you're unfamiliar with this custom, you'll find an explanatory missive in your work inboxes. Commander Spock will be in charge of the exchange, and he'll be passing around the grab-bag soon. Any questions, ask him, not me. Nothing too extravagant, DIY gets bonus points. But most of all, have fun!_ Bones can practically hear the slightly smug but mostly gleeful look on Jim's face. _Kirk out._

"Bad news, Doctor?"

McCoy looks up to find his patient staring at him with wide eyes. He takes stock and realizes his grimace probably looks rather dire, in context. 'No, you'll live. Won't need surgery, even.' He cocks an eyebrow in what he's aware is a cartoonishly threatening maneuver. 'This time. Lay off the pulled pork, Lieutenant.'

The verging-on-portly officer pulls a face of his own, but his pallor has a greyish tinge and McCoy has no doubt the message got through. Cardiac events are no joke, especially when your job has fitness requirements.

*

Spock comes around the next day, and when McCoy sees the actual literal bag he's holding, he groans inwardly. 'No.'

Spock doesn't retreat. Not that McCoy was really expecting him to. 'I beg your pardon?'

'No...thank you?' McCoy tries.

McCoy can swear Spock makes an exasperated face. 'The Captain has decreed that the gift exchange be mandatory for officers, in order to set a good example of generosity and-' He pauses. '-Holiday awesomeness.'

'Has he, now,' McCoy mutters, but it's not really a question and he's reaching for the bag.

He recognizes the contents by feel. 'Is this real paper?' he asks, surprised. 

Spock nods. 'The Captain instructed me to be thorough in my research. I believe he wished to-'

'-go big or go home, yeah, I'm familiar,' McCoy says, unfolding the scrap he's pulled out.

_Jim Kirk_

He snorts, then glares at Spock. 'Is this a joke?'

Spock raises an eyebrow. McCoy corrects quickly, managing not to roll his eyes. 'Did you rig this?'

'Please explain this concept,' Spock replies, his voice even as always, and McCoy holds back a double take. He's pretty sure he's being had, but he's not sure which direction.

'Fine,' he says eventually, waving a generally dismissive hand at Spock and his bag, 'I'll figure something out.'

*

He figures, in fact, that he'll just buy Jim a book, something obviously pointed like _War & Peace_ or _Peter Rabbit_ , and be done with it.

But then he notices, after a fashion, that the captain is kind of... grumpy. Utterly professional and full of his usual youthful enthusiasm when it's go-time, but there are these moments...

Then something occurs to McCoy, and after a terribly boring beta shift he sidles up to his comm. 'Computer, show me the duty schedule for Winona Kirk, Chief Science Officer on Deep Space 15.'

*

Sam's going to be on a tour as well, completely unavailable just like his mom. No wonder Jim looks so Goddamn morose.

So McCoy starts to plan.

*

Or at least he tries. But Jim is a squirrelly son of a bitch.

He finally resorts to asking around. It's slightly less embarrassing than that time he had to go searching for Jim's last ten bed partners and figure out who was using the illicit laundry additive that had caused Jim to break out in a very unfortunate rash, the delicate little flower that he is. But only slightly. To have to admit you don't know what to get your own buddy, the one who is probably your closest personal friend _and_ your captain, for Christmas... Well, now, that's just sad.

It's not that he doesn't have any ideas, no sir. He just… doesn't like any of them. At all.

*

'Man, I know I started it, but this Secret Santa shit is tough,' Jim complains one day mid-December, fwumping into the truly uncomfortable chair in McCoy's office.

Glad he's not the only one struggling, McCoy tries to have some pity. 'Who'd you get?'

'We're not supposed to tell, Bones.'

'Jim…'

Jim holds out his fourth finger, unrepentant. 'Pinky swear?'

McCoy looks towards the heavens. 'Jim.'

Jim sits back with a wave. 'Alright, since you insist. It's one of your staff.'

'Oh, is it, now?'

'Nurse Brookins.'

'Ah. Good kid.'

'Bones, he's 29.'

'Like I said.'

'Anyway, apparently, and I got this through very secret channels - not a metaphor - He has an obsession with horses, and has never gotten over having to leave them back on his home planet. So I want to do something there, but…' He spreads his hands out in the universal gesture of hopelessness. 'I know nothing about horses.'

McCoy hesitates only a second, then decides he can risk this much. Jim knows him better than anybody, anyway. 'I got a buddy you could ask.'

Jim perks up. 'Yeah?'

'Yeah, name's Eliot, and he's back in the States on a ranch.'

Jim snorts. 'That's delightfully cliche.'

McCoy gives him a Look. 'He also knows 99 ways to kill you with cutlery.'

Jim grins. "That's just delightful, period. How do you know such a salty character? 

McCoy shrugs, and goes back to his PADD. 'He did me a favor, once.'

Jim raises an eyebrow at him. McCoy isn't even looking; he can just feel it. 'Don't even think about asking.'

'Please, Doctor. You know I don't have to ask.'

McCoy almost smiles. 'Good luck with this one. I'd dare you, but--'

'--but we know how that works out.'

*

He is not at all surprised when he gets a message from Devereaux Ranch the next day.

_The hell you doing, forcing me to give advice to the brass?_

'Yeah, I'm sure he had to twist your arm,' McCoy writes back.

_You're such an asshole._

'Was it really that terrible?'

_He was like twenty, man. Made me feel old._

"You're tellin me," McCoy mutters to his empty office.

*

Finally, just when he's about to resort to subterfuge (which he is terrible at), the answer just sort of… shows up.

'...so,' Jim says, waving one hand as he refills their tiny regulation glasses with charmingly amber liquid, 'she says to me, and I shit you not, that Rand is her favorite. Listen, man, there of lots of things I can overlook, but terrible taste in 20th century philosophers…' He shakes his head as he sits down again.

But McCoy's attention is caught by something new on the sideboard. 'What's that?' he asks, gesturing with his chin.

It's plastic and angular and ugly and says NINTENDO ENTERTAINMENT SYSTEM in equally ugly letters.

Jim face lights up like a fucking tree, pardoning the seasonal pun, and he looks at the thing fondly. 'It's a Nintendo!'

'Thank you,' McCoy says dryly, 'I can read. What's it _do_?'

'It's one of the first of Earth's video gaming systems, from like a million years ago. I got it from this guy who really wanted a copy of _Moby Dick_ , and I had two, of course, so I was like, fine, and gave him the newer edition.'

'What does it play?'

Jim's sunny expression turns morose. 'The question is, "What does a person play _on_ it,"' he corrects absently, 'and the answer is nothing.'

'Nothing?'

'Yeah, I'm a sucker. Turns out it needs controllers that are literally available nowhere.' He stares down at his drink. 'Well,' he amends after a moment, 'Brookins implied he knew where I could get some, but I can't take advantage of him like that, especially not during the holidays.'

Well, if it was a snake it woulda bit him, as McCoy's grandmother used to say. She'd like Jim, he thinks offhandedly.

'Interesting,' is all he says out loud.

*

Brookins, it turns out, is painfully bright-eyed and a very suave negotiator.

'I know somebody, yeah,' he says, tugging absently at the hem of his sleeve. The skin of his species is translucent, which can be distracting. 'But it would be a pain, especially to get it here in two weeks.'

'Can you make it happen?' is all McCoy wants to know.

Brookins looks at him consideringly. 'Yes.'

McCoy waits. This is not his first rodeo.

'But I need you to do me a favor.'

*

...which is how McCoy finds himself three shifts later trying to cajole some New Vulcan wool out of a pointy-eared Engineering peon. (For knitting. Which apparently is therapeutic? He'd scoff at this with Jim--Knitting looks too damn hard to be anything but frustrating, in McCoy's view--but the kid would probably just tell him he should pick it up himself, to 'work out that bedside manner,' or some such nonsense.) Every three seconds he finds himself nearly pausing to wonder what has become of his life, but he shakes it off.

'Alright,' the Ensign finally says. 'I will assist you in gathering fibers. I can easily make a request to my mother.' She pauses. 'But I will require a small favor in return.'

McCoy sighs. He's running out of time, and these people are going to run him ragged.

*

Three specialty liquors (none of which he gets to drink), two blind dates (not his), and one singing telegram (very much not him, thank all the stars) later, McCoy hits a wall. Or, rather, he hits a Cupcake.

'My mom wants to meet the President,' the kid says with a shrug. (And it doesn't matter that he could break McCoy six ways to Sunday, he's still a kid.) 'And the buddy I have that can hook me up, well, the only thing on his wishlist is a very specific kind of horse.'

McCoy carefully keeps his jaw from tightening. 'A horse?'

'Yeah.'

'What kind?'

Hendorff eyes him, doubt obvious. 'What have you got?'

*

Their business remains unfinished, however, because McCoy's comm beeps.

'Bridge to Mccoy,' says Uhura's voice in overly-clipped tones.

McCoy tenses. He's not fond of those tones. 'Yes?'

'Leonard, we found the captain.'

McCoy blinks. 'Was he lost?'

'Doctor--'

'I thought he was on Floston.'

'He wasn't.'

'Sweet baby Jesus,' McCoy mutters. 'What's he gotten himself into this time?'

*

'I'm going to God damn kill him when we find him,' McCoy hisses as he and Spock materialize on the supposedly-friendly non-Federation planet that appears to have absconded with their captain. 'And if he's already dead, I'll bring him back and kill him again.'

Spock seems unaffected, but there's a slight green flush high on his cheeks as his eyes carefully take in the terrain. 'I would say that seems unlikely, but knowing our history…'

He trails off, and McCoy snorts. 'Yeah. That.'

He's so angry he expects to see red around the edges of his vision any minute now. He hasn't felt this way in a while, despite Jim getting himself into any number of sticky wickets, but something today has him taut and terrified.

He shakes himself. He needs someone to give his damn gift to, is all. He isn't going through all this trouble for nothing.

*

Jim is in civilian clothes and bleeding, though not profusely, when they're through with mostly-polite negotiations and the native population reveals his location.

Not quite all there, Jim starts explaining himself as soon as McCoy starts scanning him. 'I just wanted to make a trade, Bones.'

'All right kid, hush up so I can--'

'I heard they wanted a--' He tries to gesticulate; McCoy scowls and the hand droops. '--a thing I had, so I thought I could barter for this other thing. I tried to say I wanted to purchase it _from_ her for my loved one, but I apparently the speech impediment I conquered in third grade is haunting me because I accidentally said I wanted to buy her to _be_ my loved one and. Well. They're not big on human trafficking on this planet.' He smiles up at McCoy. 'Hi.'

'Apparently they're all right with torture, though,' McCoy mutters darkly as he heaves Jim to his feet, ache blooming in his chest when he feels far too many of Kirk's tendons stretching where they shouldn't. 

'Nah, it's all good,' Jim rambles. 'I understand the impulse. And the reasoning,' he adds after a second, and for a moment McCoy is absurdly proud at how much Jim has matured over the time they've known each other. 

He clears his throat, the skin of his neck suddenly hot. 'Well, I hope she was worth it.'

'Who?' Jim asks, nonplussed. 

'Whoever the present was for.'

'Oh. Yeah. Speaking of, did it make it back to the ship?'

'Aye, the exchange is complete,' comes Scotty's voice, and McCoy looks down in surprise to see Jim has his hand on McCoy's communication device.

He growls at Jim. 'Son of a bitch, lay _still_.'

Jim grins, and does as instructed, but only after slapping McCoy on the shoulder briefly. 'Totally, totally worth it.'

*

And McCoy doesn't understand it, as he stands over Jim's bed for the next two hours while the machines do their work. Jim has survived worse. Jim has survived _death_. McCoy has brought Jim back to life _himself_.

Yet now more than ever, he is terrified of it happening again. Because he doesn't think he can pull off a miracle twice. And he is simply not interested in any more days without Jim Kirk, damn him.

He alternates his hard gaze between Jim and the monitors, thinking about this, about crossroads deals and modern science and the hand of fate.

He thinks about the one card he's holding: the beautiful, valuable, and precious horse he has waiting for him under Eliot's sure care. The one thing he'd gotten back after the divorce, because Jocelyn had never had an interest. 

He'd always figured he'd give the mare to Jo, but honestly, Jo seems to have taken after her mother in that regard. And even if that changes, McCoy knows, more horses can be bought.

He looks down at Jim for one more moment.

It was never a choice, really.

*

_Are you kiddin me, man?!_

For such a laconic guy, Eliot uses a lot of punctuation. 

'What do you think?'

McCoy doesn't wait for a response, though.

'You know what, I don't care what you think. I just need you to make it happen.'

There's a few hours' delay. Time moving differently where he is, in a floating tin can and all, it's interminable.

_Done. Shiva's on her way to Whitsell Stables in the morning._

'I owe you,' is all he sends back.

_Man, why d'you keep sayin that? You know damn well you do not. Spencer out._

*

The day of the exchange dawns the same as every other day on this damned ship: With McCoy annoyed and Jim overly enthusiastic.

It's not just Jim, though, McCoy is forced to admit by the end of the day. Everyone is kind of laughing and there's just a good sort of energy about the place.

And McCoy can't help but at least be a little less annoyed. Sort of. Maybe.

Until there's eggnog.

It's of course replicated so there's zero chance of it killing anyone, but it still smells terrible to McCoy, and makes everyone else even more chipper and festive.

'Can we just get this over with?' he mutters after an hour of potluck-ing and merriment. 

Jim looks at him questioningly, and McCoy points to the plainly wrapped (but clearly a present, and literally priceless) package he'd brought with him.

Jim's face lights up, and he grabs a small bag he'd been carrying around and stands. He taps his comm once, and his cheerful voice booms around the hall.

'Thanks for coming, everyone. I hope we've all learned something about cultural traditions different from our own, and maybe made some friends, and perhaps had too much nog. Because now it's time for presents!'

Cheers come from the crowd. Jim puts up a hand. 'Now, usually the exchanging is done in secret, too, and the reveals are later, but let's be honest, we know I can't wait that long.' Scattered laughter. He puts both hands up like some victorious dictator, which shouldn't work but somehow does for him. Magical bastard. 'Happy Holidays! Go destroy some wrapping paper!'

McCoy snorts and shakes his head, arms folded and Jim's present tucked under them. He's not sure how to go about this, so he figures he'll just watch and wait. But Jim heads straight for him, holding out his gaily trimmed bag.

'What the…'

'It's for you, Bones. I picked you out of the hat, I swear to God. Merry Christmas and all that.' When McCoy doesn't move, Jim rolls his eyes. 'It won't bite you, okay?'

'Says who,' McCoy mutters, setting his own contribution on the table and reaching out warily. 

But Jim won't stop grinning. McCoy absently dissects the wrappings without any grand show. 'Man,' Kirk comments, 'I'd be disappointed that you didn't rip into it, but that's kind of awesome how you weren't even trying.'

'Why won't you ever believe me about my damn hands?' McCoy shoots back reflexively, while pulling out what feels like a cool metal cylinder--

Which is exactly what it is. He looks from it to Jim, surely with a befuddled expression, but Jim just gestures unhelpfully. 'Go on. It's perfectly safe.'

McCoy manages to find the mechanism to open it, and out slides a container of alarmingly pink liquid. McCoy screws off the top and sniffs. 'It's perfectly stinky. What in tarnation is it?'

Jim shakes his head, but his buoyancy isn't punctured by McCoy's reluctance. 'It's fly spray, Bones. The inhabitants of that planet--uh, you know, the ones that liked me so much they tried to keep me last week--have creatures really similar to horses, and loads of awesome natural resources not found anywhere else, and they've perfected this totally organic yet actually effective fly spray. I knew we would be nearby and I know you hate using all the chemical ones on Shiva, so I figured--'

He finally catches the look on McCoy's face. 'What?'

'I--' McCoy pauses, gut churning, but shortly he figures there's nothing for it but the truth. 'I sold Shiva yesterday.'

Jim's face tightens in that way it does. 'Beg pardon?'

McCoy picks up his forgotten package and holds it out. 'This is for you.'

Jim takes it, but protests. 'That doesn't answer my--'

'Just open it.'

'But Bones--'

'Jim.'

Jim meets his eyes, and whatever he sees there gets him to comply.

The moment he kens what's in the package--because not for nothing he _is_ a genius, and Nintendo accessories, it turns out, have a pretty distinctive shape--he stills. McCoy feels a distinct dropping sensation near his gut. 'What?'

But Jim is staring at him, holding a hard-won Nintendo controller in front of him almost absently, and for once appears to not be interested in shooting off an immediate flippant answer. McCoy can practically see the wheels ticking round in his head.

Then, out of nowhere and very rudely, at least in McCoy's opinion, Jim starts laughing.

'Jim--'

'We're idiots,' Jim interrupts.

McCoy tries very hard not to puff up in offense. 'Well, now, that's no way to--'

And then suddenly, like the iceberg hitting the Titanic, Jim's kissing him.

It's unexpected, to say the least. And he'd put a stop to it, except, well, it's too close to the reason he's been so god damn tense for the last month. Six years. Whatever.

He'd've thought Jim would kiss like he does everything: With intent and a lot of world-be-damned sort of attitude. And he does, he tastes like recklessness, but also it's like he--like he's waiting.

Well, that's enough of that. McCoy brings his hands up, to Jim's shoulder and Jim's face, and Jim tenses, but McCoy is nothing if not stubborn once he decides on something, so he holds on and gives it a good ole try.

He kisses Jim Kirk like the world's about to end. Like he's in love with the son of a bitch.

And as Jim kisses back, insistently and with much the same intent, as the pieces click into place, McCoy realizes that just might be the case.

(The second one, not the first. The world is not going to end any time soon, not if Leonard McCoy has anything to say about it.)

McCoy breaks the kiss reluctantly, overly conscious of where they are. Jim's free hand doesn't leave his torso where it's clenched in his shirt. The Nintendo controller is kind of smashed on between them, and McCoy hadn't even noticed. 

As soon as his mouth is free, predictably, Jim starts talking. 'Seriously, we're ridiculous idiots. Bones. The thing I traded on that planet, the only thing I had that they even remotely wanted, was the Nintendo. And even though it was irrationally precious to me, I gave it to them without a second thought.

'And you--' He looks at McCoy, his expression fond. 'I mean, I heard you were doing favors for half the crew, but I--' He stops and presses his lips to the corner of McCoy's mouth. 'I never thought you'd go so far as to sell Shiva.'

Mccoy is certain his face is red. He's almost certain he doesn't care. 'Yes, well. People do stupid shit when they're in love.'

Jim searches his gaze. For a long time. But he knows McCoy damn well does not fib, or back down, and he finally nods. 'Yeah,' he says, looking from the Nintendo controller back to Mccoy with a rueful tilt to his head. 'We do.'

McCoy feels a stab of guilt. 'Jim, I'm sorry.'

Jim's gaze snaps to. 'For what?'

McCoy gestures at the controller. 'You don't have your--'

'Bones, shut up. I'd do it all over again the same way and you know it. Besides, you sacrificed something much more precious. A Nintendo is just a thing. Shiva was-- Wasn't she going to be a gift for Jo?'

'Well--' McCoy avoids the urge to cross his arms.

'Actually,' cuts in Spock's voice, and McCoy absolutely does not jump, no sir, 'she still can be.'

Kirk and McCoy look at him blankly. Then for McCoy it turns into suspicion. 'I _knew_ you rigged this!'

But Spock tilts his chin in that obstinate way he has. 'I did not personally affect the outcome of the drawing in any way.'

'Sure. We just _happened_ to pick each other.'

'The statistical probability of two people randomly selecting each other was low, but not imposs--'

'It was me, alright?'

Eliot's voice growls through the system as his image appears on the screen on the wall. So much for any pretense of privacy, McCoy thinks as the remaining party-goers all hush and become their de facto audience.

Kirk brightens. 'Hey, Lieutenant Spencer.'

McCoy's eyebrow shoots up as he turns to the screen. 'You _told_ him?'

'Please, Bones. You know I've got the magic touch.'

McCoy shakes his head, but he knows he's probably grinning like a damn fool. 'Spencer, I'm a little disappointed in you.'

'Shut it, McCoy, or I'll keep your damn horse myself.'

'Wait,' Jim puts in, 'I'm confused. You didn't even know about the game until I told you. How did you rig it?'

'I didn't, exactly. Pretty sure the Vulcan is telling the truth about that. But after Captain Kirk talked to me, I had a suspicion. So I made a few calls.'

'To me,' Spock clarifies unnecessarily.

But then Brookins steps up beside him and grins. 'And me.'

McCoy blinks. 'You--both?'

'Not just us, Doctor.'

And one by one, they chime in, every person McCoy had fetched or bargained for and with, even Cupcake crossing his arms and nodding reluctantly at the end of the line.

'Well,' McCoy draws finally, 'at least I didn't do that singing telegram myself, if it was all for nothing.'

'Hey,' Jim protests. 'I'm the best thing that's ever happened to you, I know for a fact.'

McCoy merely smirks, but he knows his eyes give him away. 'That which does not kill us makes us stronger,' he says wryly. And before Jim can shoot back, McCoy pulls him over for a kiss. Because he _can_.

They break apart to the sound of applause, which is pretty damn embarrassing, by McCoy's view, but he just can't bring himself to do more than grumble for show, hand still cupped around the back of Jim's neck.

'So Kirk's plastic piece of ancient history is back on the Enterprise, Shiva is still here with me,' Eliot's continuing, 'and I'll be glad to take that Rialtan fly spray off your hands.'

'How did you know where it was from?' Jim asks, clearly impressed.

Eliot crosses his arms. 'It's a very distinctive color.'

'Okay…'

'Don't ask,' McCoy says to him. 'Or do, because you're going to anyway, but do it some other time.'

Jim grins. 'Bones, it's like you know me.'

'Shut up.'

He's not sure who kisses who that time. He just knows that when he surfaces, it's to Eliot's voice saying his name. 'Yes?' he says reluctantly.

' _Now_ ,' Eliot says, leveling his gaze at McCoy, 'you owe me. Spencer out.'

Jim looks at McCoy. McCoy just shrugs. 'He's not wrong.'

Jim grins, a new sort of grin with a message for McCoy right there in it, and it might be the best thing McCoy's ever seen.

*

A few weeks later, McCoy regrets the whole thing.

Well, the Nintendo part, at least.

'This game is terrible,' he grumbles after losing at Duck Hunt yet again. 'Why won't it just let me shoot the damn dog?'

'Humility, Bones,' Jim replies as he takes the proffered plastic gun and waits for his turn. 'It's good for the soul.'

And that is _enough_. McCoy easily swipes the controller from Jim's relaxed grip, and pushes him back into the couch enough that McCoy can kneel directly in front of him, between lax legs. 'I'll show you what's good for the soul.'

Jim laughs, but there's a choked quality to it and his eyes are already betraying his interest. Everything is so new and golden with them, and McCoy is determined to enjoy it while there are no terrorizing beasties or homicidal venge-factories lurking.

So he's undoing Jim's pants with easy efficiency, then pulling on Jim's hips until he's right there for the taking. 

And take he does.

First he just goes for it, taking him in as far as he can, then pulling off to tongue around the head and lick stripes up the side. He's absently cataloguing the differences in taste at this time, on this day, when he feels Jim's hand slide round the back of his neck.

'Bones…'

And McCoy almost chuckles, because nicknames during sex are, well, weird, but the fingers on his skin are warm and clenching and he refocuses on the task at hand. He sucks in the cockhead and tightens his lips.

Jim lets his head fall back with a grunt of approval. His hand stays on McCoy's neck, though; not moving or demanding, just comfortable, connecting them as McCoy does his best to give outstanding service.

And apparently it works, because soon the hand is tugging, and Jim is protesting. 'Bones, stop, I want--'

Bones heeds the request, letting Jim's cock slide out of his mouth, smoothing his hands up under Jim's shirt and enjoying the warm skin there. 'Yes?' he says, his voice a little hoarse. 'You want…?'

Jim grabs his hands and pulls them both to their feet, kissing him hard. 'Bed. I want us on the bed and you inside me. Stat.'

McCoy finds himself grinning, heat spreading through his body. He holds Jim to him for a moment, solid, warm, so close he can feel his accelerated heartbeat. 'I believe I can make that happen.'

They leave their clothing in a trail across the short distance to said bed, and Jim continues the theme by trailing his lips down McCoy's neck and chest, skin warming to his touch. McCoy finds he's content to give up control, something that should surprise him but mostly doesn't, as Jim straddles him, their cocks nudging into each other, and they both groan at the sensation.

Jim insists Bones be the one to open him up, though, putting McCoy's fingers where he wants them. McCoy is only too happy to comply, the heat fierce and promising. 'Finally believe me about my hands, do you?' he says, because he can't not.

Jim nods. 'Needs more research, though,' he says, voice roughening as the pressure increases. 'Very thorough research.'

McCoy looks at him, at the sweaty flushed mess of a man above him, and feels it down to his God damn toes. 'Be glad to help with that study.'

But Jim shakes his head. 'Later,' he says, pushing away the fingers and reaching for McCoy's cock. 'For now--'

And when the connection is complete the heat sparks between them like a lava flow, like it always does, enveloping them both smoothly and inevitably.

It's not perfect; McCoy can't kiss him from this angle and his back will hurt in a few hours and he comes way before Jim does but he doesn't mind, he powers through, he sits up and wraps a hand around Jim's cock, stripping it until Jim comes with a surprised shout and they fall over into an ungainly pile of elbows and body fluids.

It's glorious.

Jim just lays on him for a while, content and radiating heat, until McCoy nudges at him. When Jim looks up, he gestures towards the head. 'Captains first.'

Jim smirks, but complies. McCoy takes his turn, too, but then Jim doesn't let him even get his underoos back on before pulling him into bed. 'No,' he explains in sleepy tones. 'I want to enjoy the merchandise.'

'You're ridiculous,' McCoy mutters into Jim's hair as they settle into a somewhat manageable position underneath the sheets.

'And you love it,' Jim says on a yawn.

McCoy absolutely doesn't smile like a dope. 'God help me, I do.' He pauses. 'I can't believe it took a stupid Secret Santa to make us get it together.'

Jim turns just enough to nose at McCoy's armpit. 'Best Secret Santa ever. They'll tell tales about it for years to come.'

'God, I hope not. I did some things I'm not proud of.'

Jim laughs, and leans his face up to press their lips together. 'Yeah, and how did you not know? After all that stuff about horses?'

'You said it was Brookins,' McCoy protests.

'You didn't pinky swear,' Kirk counters with a smirk, but he's apparently distracted by McCoy's lips, because he sets about kissing them with enthusiasm.

McCoy is all right with this turn of events. Kissing Jim is shortly becoming one of his favorite pastimes. 

Echoing his thoughts rather disconcertingly, Jim pulls back and looks at him, brows drawn together in the most earnest fucking look McCoy's ever seen. He traces McCoy's mouth with a finger. 'I could do this for fucking ever.'

McCoy's heart squeezes, right there in his chest. 

He clears his throat. 'I bet we could go somewhere, find a rip in the space-time continuum, and make that happen,' he deadpans.

But Kirk's face relays that he thinks that's the greatest idea ever. 'I bet we could find that. If anybody could, this crew freaking could.'

'I was kidding.'

'We could!'

'It was a joke!'

But Jim's eyes are twinkling. 'What do you say, Bones? Stuck up here in space with me? Wanna have an adventure?'

'Oh Lord, what have I done?'

'Something awesome.'

'No.'

'Well, lots of awesome things, but this would be even more awesome. Come on, you secretly like adventure, don't even try that scowly-faced thing.'

McCoy growls and rolls until Jim is under him. 'How bout we limit today's adventures to this right here?'

Jim easily accommodates his weight and breadth. 'You are such a smooth talker.'

'Shut up,' McCoy grouses. 'Or I'll shut you up.'

Jim pulls him down with a grin. 'Sold.'

**_fin_ **


End file.
